


Jumin Han: NSFW Headcanons

by keeperofthefour



Series: Mystic Messenger Headcanons [3]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27005752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeperofthefour/pseuds/keeperofthefour
Summary: Hi, I still love Jumin Han. Have some more daydreams. Hope you enjoy them!
Relationships: Han Jumin/Main Character
Series: Mystic Messenger Headcanons [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971001
Kudos: 58





	Jumin Han: NSFW Headcanons

Jumin’s experience with women is limited. In fact, you should truly believe he was pure white as snow until the two of you met. He’s the type who felt that sexual relationships were a waste of time and energy. Having grown up with a father who provided a terrible example when it came to matters of the heart, Jumin never truly learned what it was to feel love, to see a healthy, romantic relationship blossom and grow. He believed that physical love was something unnecessary and complicating to otherwise pleasant, business-like arrangements with the women in his life. 

To be quite honest, Jumin has never had what one would consider “pleasant” relationships with women, except for maybe Rika. In better days, she encouraged him to express his more vulnerable side, much to his chagrin. He would scoff and try to blow her off...but at some point, something probably clicked with him. He knew that someday, the possibility that he would enter into a romantic relationship was there, and he maybe even began a period of introspection and self-awareness that gave him something to build on when he finally met you. 

Since your relationship began in the chatrooms for RFA, Jumin got to know you for your personality before he ever laid eyes on you. And he was  _ smitten.  _ Completely and irrevocably. You kept up with his quick wit, his intelligent conversation, and he fell head over heels for you within a matter of days. Your banter kept him on his toes. He called you often in the first few days, asking some very matter-of-fact questions to try and gain a scope of your personality, mainly to be sure that you weren't a threat to the security of the RFA and its members. Jumin does not trust easily. But once he found himself feeling for you, a certain possessiveness took over. Perhaps at some point– and maybe even a little now– Jumin equates romantic love with a sense of ownership. And you know as well as he– had you not had the strength of will to have yourself removed from his home in the days leading up to the fundraiser, things could have taken a dark, twisted turn.

Thankfully, your presence of mind helped Jumin step back and realize that you both needed time and space to prepare for the party and gather your thoughts about your budding relationship. But it wasn’t long after the party that the two of you decided collectively that you’d had enough time to think…

Fueled by a bottle of his finest vintage wine and a mutual desire to consummate your new relationship, the first night together was nothing short of a miraculous, earth-shattering, mind-blowing experience that left you incapable of speech or coherent thought for hours on end. For a man as inexperienced as Jumin, he was nothing if not a most willing pupil and participant. He was utterly enthralled by you. From the moment your lips crashed into his while you were seated on his sofa together, your tongue– cool and sweet with wine– sliding over his as you crawled your way into his lap. The two of you quickly became a tangled mess of lips and limbs, hands fisted into silken strands of hair, clothes being hastily shoved aside, then completely removed and strewn to the floor. 

He led you to the confines of his bedroom and laid you out upon black satin sheets, trembling with awe at your magnificent beauty as you gazed up at him, unabashed desire radiating from every part of you. Eyes heavy with lust under thick lashes, cheeks ruddy, your chest heaving with quickened breath, you wanted him  _ now _ , but you wanted him to take his sweet time, to memorize every part of you, inch by buzzing inch.

He hovered over you, hands pressed flat against the mattress on either side of your head, his hair hanging over his eyes as he lowered his face to kiss you again. He tasted of red wine, of love, of unbridled passion in every purposeful slide and twist of his lips against yours. He took mental note of each time you arched your neck to meet him more firmly, each quiet moan that left your mouth when his hands began to roam the soft planes of your body. The pride he felt in coaxing these reactions from you gave him great satisfaction, knowing that the emotional connection between you had led to this intense physical connection. 

Enthralled with each sharp intake of breath, each muscle that twitched and skin that dimpled with goosebumps under his fingertips, he wanted to keep his eyes open. To use all of his senses to memorize this moment and use it as a reference. Research, if you will. To know how best to ensure your absolute pleasure, each and every time you made love.

When he'd explored your mouth and tongue to his satisfaction, you granted him access to your neck with a subtle tilt of your head, your lips parted in a quiet sigh when you felt his hot, open-mouthed exploration of some of your more sensitive areas. Your pulse points, the fleshy lobe of your ear, the sunken hollow of your neck; all required time and attention while you tried– and ultimately failed– to keep your composure beneath him. By the time his tongue grazed your taut nipple, his nimble fingers kneading soft, supple flesh, you were a panting, dripping wet mess. Jumin remained unfazed by your obvious “suffering”. If anything, it drove him to further explore, pressing insistently into the soft expanse of your abdomen, trailing lips and tongue along until he reached your hips. His hands smoothed over your thighs, behind and over your knees, his keen grey eyes following each twist and turn of his wrist as he left no part of you untouched, unexplored, even giving your feet a squeeze before working his way back up to where you were the most warm, the most in need of his attention.

He made eye contact with you, then. Wide, wonderful, curious eyes; eyes that told you he had no idea what to do, but he wanted to try. He wanted to taste you, to feel you bucking against his mouth and hands, to hear you call his name in the throes of your passion. Trembling fingers traced over your damp curls, and you exhaled slowly, your heart beating so hard you feared it might burst. He watched your face, and a smile curled upon his lips when he introduced a finger, the soft, warm, wetness a foreign, but not unwelcome, feeling. He steadied his own breathing while sliding two fingers along your folds, then withdrawing them to lift them for study. Two glistening fingers, a sly grin, a sidelong glance at you, and he sucked them into his mouth with a low, primal moan, his eyes fluttering closed at the taste of your arousal. 

He lowered himself then, and you wasted no time in hooking your knees over his shoulders, heels resting against his shoulders. When you felt that first broad swipe of his tongue, your back arched clean away from the mattress while you grabbed fistfuls of his hair, the back of your head buried hard against the pillow behind it. His name left your throat on a ragged breath as he tasted you, a languid pace to his exploration. Hands trailed along the insides of your thighs, pushing your legs further apart for better access. Within minutes, you were coming profuse against his face, unable and unwilling to control the grind of your hips, the twitch of your orgasm as it pulsed through you, lighting every nerve ending on fire, sending you to dizzying heights. You had to beg him to stop, or he would have licked you to your death. His own hips rocked against the mattress while he sought some sort of friction to sate his own needs.

When he reluctantly left you a wrecked, blissed-out mess and climbed back over you again, he was a satisfied man. But when you beckoned him inside with a tilt of your pelvis, something dark and possessive passed through his grey eyes. It thrilled you, knowing he was about to take you, to claim you as his own in the most primal way. And when he moved in you, sheathing himself inside, you shared a breath between you, eyes locked on each other. He smoothed a hand over your hair and whispered words of devotion against the shell of your ear as he began to thrust. His movements were jerky at first, unnatural, as if he were trying to maintain his pace for the sake of lasting longer than a few minutes. His grunts were quiet, his breath came in exaggerated bursts. But he soon found his rhythm when you began to gently guide him, rocking your hips gently against his to encourage him. He grabbed under your knees and lifted so that you folded your legs around his waist, allowing him a deeper angle. 

The first time didn’t last long, for him or for you. The strength of his devotion, the gravity of your feelings for one another, the pure, unbidden lust and passion you felt for one another...it was  _ too much.  _ There had been so much buildup, so much you had learned about one another in those moments leading up to the act itself that you invariably exploded when you came together as one. But you didn’t mind, and you know he didn’t either. Lying together afterward, he continued to touch you, a comforting weight and warmth to his affections. You may have drifted off to sleep a couple of times, head resting against his chest while your fingers tapped playfully along his jaw. 

As your relationship grew, Jumin’s confidence grew as well. But he remained a gentle, passionate, giving lover. Insatiable?  _ Absolutely. _ You often walked around with a pleasant ache between your thighs, thoughts of a previous night’s romp bringing a blush to your cheeks when you thought of them at random moments throughout your day. Subtle bruises in secret places when he sucked or pulled a little too hard at sensitive skin in a moment of passion. Was he demanding or degrading? Not Jumin Han. His concern was your comfort, your pleasure. Yours was a partnership built on equal footing. Give and receive, mutual reciprocation. Jumin never asked you to do anything that would make you feel uncomfortable, and you often had frank, open discussions about your sex life. It’s what kept the fire stoked, the magic coursing through each electric encounter. 

To have and to hold for a lifetime, you knew you had to be the luckiest girl on the face of the planet to have won his affections. And he would cherish you each and every day of the rest of his life.

  
  



End file.
